


Pretty When You Cry

by Pleasant_Boy



Series: La Justice [1]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: M/M, Making Out, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Oral Sex, Spoilers, Violent Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-14
Updated: 2017-05-14
Packaged: 2018-10-31 14:23:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10901178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pleasant_Boy/pseuds/Pleasant_Boy
Summary: Akechi stares at Akira's hands as he gently places a cup of carefully-brewed coffee down in front of him with a softclinkas the ceramic hits the lacquered countertop. He watches Akira's fingers pull back from the white saucer—slender, bony, delicate—and thinks about breaking them all, one by one.The tension between Akechi and Akira has been slowly building for a long time now, but neither one expected it to finally spill over like this.





	Pretty When You Cry

Akechi stares at Akira's hands as he gently places a cup of carefully-brewed coffee down in front of him with a soft _clink_ as the ceramic hits the lacquered countertop. He watches Akira's fingers pull back from the white saucer—slender, bony, delicate—and thinks about breaking them all, one by one.

His smile is genuine. The coffee is delicious and the thoughts are pleasant. 

He imagines dropping the cup in a moment of "accidental" clumsiness, sending white shards and hot coffee exploding across the floor. The subsequent apologies. Akira's insistence that it's fine. And then he imagines shoving Akira to his knees, broken ceramic biting into his skin through his jeans, and tries to picture the look on his face when Akechi tells him to clean it up with his tongue.

Akira's coffee is so much more bitter than Sojiro's. It sticks to the back of Akechi's throat. It's not entirely unpleasant, as much as he wishes it was.

Outside, the rain pours down, flooding down the streets in tiny rivers and pattering against Leblanc's door. Akechi stays far longer than he means to—or _should_ —in an effort to wait it out. It doesn't stop.

"It's a little early, but I'm closing up for the day. Not like we're gonna get any customers with this weather," Sojiro sighs as he unties the back of his apron. "Akira, make sure you lock up after your friend leaves, got it?"

"Oh, I should really be going too," Akechi says, reaching into his pocket to pay for the coffee. But Sojiro scoffs and waves one hand dismissively.

"Don't feel like you need to rush out because I'm leaving. You're a good kid, feel free to stay," Sojiro says with a smile, and with a glance toward Akira he adds, "maybe you'll be a good influence on him." It's a playful rib, and Akira grins while Akechi's heart seizes and envy bubbles in his chest.

 _They aren't even **related**_.

Akira takes his apron off too, and waves goodbye to Sojiro as he leaves. The silence between them hasn't felt awkward all day, but now it feels expectant. Heavy. They're _alone_ alone, something that's never happened before. Akechi's skin crawls.

"You don't have to leave yet, you know," Akira says. His voice makes the hair on the back of Akechi's neck stand up. Akira averts his eyes immediately, busying himself with hanging his apron up. "The rain's still pretty bad. And, uh—" He turns back around to face Akechi, hands in his pockets. "It would be nice to spend more time with you."

Akechi should go home. He should decline and leave immediately—he's been here far too long already. He should walk through Yongen-Jaya in the pouring rain and take the subway back to his empty apartment and stare at his ceiling until he falls asleep alone.

But he knows—and Akira knows—that the second the invitation was offered, there was no chance of him turning it down.

He knows it's a mistake. He doesn't know that Akira knows that, too.

* * *

They're on each other before Akechi even finishes climbing the last stair. Akira turns and grabs him by the jacket collar and for a second Akechi braces for a punch that never comes. But then Akira's mouth is on his, insistent and hungry, and before he can even think Akechi wraps his arms around him tightly, pulling them flush together, squeezing hard enough to break something. When they pull back, Akira's glasses are askew, and Akechi resists the urge to slap them off his face. He has no right to look that sweet.

"Is it—is this okay?" Akira asks too late, breathing hard. It's not, but that doesn't stop Akechi from kissing him again in answer, pushing Akira forward until they fall on top of his futon together.

Akira practically throws his glasses off and onto his windowsill, and Akechi rises up on his knees to peel off his gloves. There's no grace, no taking their time getting undressed. It's fast and urgent, and their mouths are still on each other as they strip, only leaving when they're forced to in order to remove more clothing. While Akira shakily unbuttons the front of Akechi's jacket, Akechi runs his newly bare hands through Akira's thick mess of wavy hair. The black curls feel like warm silk twining through Akechi's fingers. 

He wants to rip it out. He doesn't.

Akira shivers when his shirt falls to the floor, nuzzling his mouth against the side of Akechi's jaw. His skin is so soft beneath Akechi's hands, evidence of their Metaverse explorations marring the pale flesh with ugly yellow-purple bruises. Akechi "accidentally" digs his thumb into a particularly nasty one on his ribs, feels his dick twitch at Akira's sharp whimper. "Haha, sorry," he lies, voice low, kissing beneath Akira's earlobe, "I guess I'm a little overeager."

"It's fine," Akira says quickly, tugging Akechi down on top of him as he lays back against the futon. "Your hands feel good… they're so soft." He grasps one of Akechi's hands in his own and kisses his fingertips. It's far too gentle, and the kindness of the gesture makes Akechi's stomach turn.

Everything would be easier if it was Joker underneath him right now instead of Akira. Joker's smirking smugness, so easy to hate, is far more tolerable than the way Akira Kurusu kisses his hands like they're something precious, looking up at him with trusting eyes like a beloved pet.

Akechi presses two fingers past Akira's lips, inside his wet mouth, and smiles—just a little—at the surprised look on his face.

The smile vanishes when Akira's tongue swipes up his fingers and he sucks on them without breaking eye contact, replaced by a stunned expression of his own. It's so unexpectedly lewd, so openly needy, that part of Akechi's self-control vanishes. Pushing his fingers in and out of Akira's mouth, feeling the slick friction of his lips, Akechi leans his head down to bite into Akira's shoulder. Akira whimpers and rolls his hips up, sucking harder on Akechi's fingers.

"Oh," Akechi breathes, and licks over the indentations his teeth have left in Akira's skin, "could it be you like things a little rough—" he moves his mouth back to Akira's ear, biting his earlobe, "— _A-ki-ra_?"

Akira nods frantically, goosebumps raised all over his arms.

Of course he does. There was never any chance he _wasn't_ going to be a kinky little fuck, because—

 _Because so are you,_ his brain finishes, unbidden, and Akechi yanks his fingers back out of Akira's mouth, wiping the spit off on his cheek as he pulls away. Akira's big eyes look up at him, flushed lips still hanging open slightly.

Akechi bears down on top of him, grinding their erections against one another through their pants as he kisses Akira again—with significantly more teeth involved this time. Even with the roughness and Akechi's barely restrained bad intentions, Akira's vulnerable tenderness doesn't disappear. He licks up into Akechi's mouth desperately, writhing beneath him, their kisses messy and sensory. Akira's bottom lip is soft between Akechi's teeth, and he bites down hard enough to make Akira whimper but just shy of drawing blood.

This isn't the way he wants to make him bleed. That's reserved for a locked cell deep underground, where no one can hear him cry for mercy.

By the time their mouths finally part, Akira's lips are swollen and nearly bruised, and he licks Akechi's spit off them like it will bring him closer again. Their foreheads rest against one another.

"You're so pretty like this, Akira," he says, not knowing that Akira knows his tenderness is fake. "I always knew you'd be good with your mouth."

"Think about it a lot?" Akira asks, and the little grin on his face makes Akechi's blood boil.

"Let me show you what I think about," Akechi replies, sitting up and unbuckling his belt. He moves quickly—there's still a sense of embarrassment about Akira seeing him naked, after all, and the less time he has to gawk the better—and pulls his pants and briefs down past his ass, abruptly straddling Akira's chest. It's Akechi's turn to grin, but there's no mirth there.

His fingers dig into frizzy black hair hair as he presses his erect cock forward insistently, smearing precome across the side of Akira's face. Akira turns his head eagerly, mouthing at Akechi's dick messily while he looks up at him through sultry eyes. It's disgustingly hot, the way Akira's pink tongue laps a line up the side of his erection, and Akechi can't bear to look anymore. He presses himself inside Akira's waiting mouth and lets out an involuntary groan at just how fucking _good_ it feels.

Using Akira's hair like a set of handlebars, Akechi doesn't give him time to adjust. He fucks Akira's mouth roughly, jerking his toy's head forward and moving his hips at the same time. It's so warm and wet and slick, and Akira's tongue flicks around the head of his dick even while he tries to fuck the breath out of him. 

There's an urge to go too far. To just hold him in place until he gags and chokes, to watch him struggle to pull away with tears in his eyes. The only thing that stops Akechi is the thought of having to clean Akira's vomit off his uniform.

It's humiliating, but Akechi can't help the noises he makes as he thrusts into Akira's mouth, squeezing his eyes shut and bracing himself against the wall behind Akira's head with one hand. Every time he moans, Akira does too, and knowing he's _that_ eager to get Akechi off only makes him even dizzier. He grits his teeth, his grip on Akira's hair intensifying entirely too hard as he tries to hold off his orgasm. Not yet—not yet—he doesn't want this to be over so fast, doesn't want to deal with the repercussions of what he's doing, just wants to feel this in control for a little longer—

"Ngh!"

He comes with a sudden, sharp gasp, his hips twitching. Breathing hard, he doesn't make any sign to move yet, even though he's still straddling Akira with his dick in his mouth. His eyes are still closed, but he can feel Akira's tongue moving over his softening cock, licking up his come without even being told to.

He finally pulls back, and Akira takes a deep breath, wiping his mouth off on the back of his hand. At that moment, the reality of what Akechi has just done crashes against him like a freezing ocean wave.

He needs to leave. 

"I—I—" he stammers, quickly pulling his briefs back up and stumbling onto his feet, grabbing his jacket. He doesn't apologize, even as Akira sits up and looks completely baffled. He just turns and leaves the attic he hates, buttoning up his jacket and putting on his shoes before stepping outside into the still-pouring rain.

He doesn't even go back in for his gloves.

**Author's Note:**

> I want to write more about this pairing eventually but I'm still sorry I blueballed you, Akira-san


End file.
